


The Tale of the Green and Silver

by Emmessann



Series: Hale Derek [2]
Category: Robin Hood (Traditional), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Just backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmessann/pseuds/Emmessann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was originally a chapter in my fic Hale Derek, meant to break up the action in a long chapter and provide a little backstory. It broke up the action too much, so now it has its own entry. </p>
<p>There's no Teen Wolf canon in this (unless insights from the Nemeton's country cousins count) so it's generally only interesting in the context of the main Hale Derek story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Green and Silver

In the beginning, they were only colors, each most vivid at a solstice: the verdant green of midsummer noon and the cool silver of snow at twilight on the shortest day of the year.

They were celebrated, feared and fed. And yet, they were lonely, for each had only one other like itself, and it was their destiny to spend eternity a half-year apart.

It was the Green who made the first change. While exploring the wild river one midsummer noontide, the Green chanced upon a small island of rock and earth that had recently broken off from the bank. The swift current would soon wear it away.

Nonetheless, a man and a large black wolf crouched upon the loose dirt behind the great rock that shielded it. The wolf's fur was matted with a sheen of river bracken and the man was soaking wet, his pale homespun gleaming in the sunlight. They must have swum across the Twiene to reach their precarious perch. The man crouched over the soil, something small cupped in his palm.

The Green was intrigued.  "What are you doing there?"

The man answered first. "Her den has come unmoored from the bank, but now ‘tis a fine place to retreat for safety. I thought if I could encourage something strong to put down roots here she might have a secure place to raise her cubs one day."

The wolf huffed and the man laughed. "Yes, fit for a queen."

"You seem to be close friends, when by nature you should be far apart," the Green said enviously.

Man and wolf looked at one another in surprise. "Do we? We’ve been out here in the pines for a long time. We've both known uncertainty, hunger and loss. I'm a bit of a lone wolf myself, and sometimes I'd swear she's human." At a warning growl, "No offense."

"What will you offer me?" the Green asked eagerly.

"What?"

"You hold the acorn of a sacrifice oak. Its leaves show green on the outer side in summer, then all turn to show silver in winter. A most auspicious choice. Properly tended, it can protect your land and your lineage. But to receive value, there must be a sacrifice. It is the natural way.”

The man stared for a moment at the delicate shell cupped in his palm. “I have nothing of value,” he said, “and I don’t want her to come to any harm. But security for her would be a fine remembrance. In exchange for that, I would offer you myself.”

The wolf let out a snarl that ended with a piteous howl. She butted the man’s left hand, and he stroked her head, while protectively closing his right over the precious acorn.

“Excellent,” the Green said. “You are both strong-minded and stout-hearted despite your isolation, and sorrow has made you wise. I will accept half of your offerings.”

“Offerings!” the man sputtered. _“Half,_ what?”

“Half from each of you,” the Green said patiently. “Now plant the seed, so that you may become hale, and prosper.”

The wolf quickly dug a hole and nudged the man’s hand until he dropped the acorn and covered it with soil. The Green leapt into the seed to quicken it. As it spread its roots and branches the Green was amused to see the half-man and half-wolf adjusting to their suddenly similar new bodies. The Green would watch their family grow with interest.

*****

The Green found life as a sacrifice oak to be quite pleasant. Instead of the flicker of solstice, time progressed smoothly, a steady turning through the seasons’ dance. The Green confidently expected that its beloved Silver would plant its own roots as soon as it saw its friend’s advantages. All trees can reach each other through the earth, and the Green looked forward to such contact. Surely the Silver longed for the same?

But after sixty winters, the Silver had yet to commit, and they had spent less than a day together. It was nice to share the twilight gleam of winter solstice when the snow clung to the Green’s leafless branches, but such contact was transitory.

The Silver loved the Green, but had more of a careful observer's spirit. The Silver had watched over centuries of winter, as its fragile worshippers contrived increasingly ingenious protections from the cold. The Green was a lover of the ease of nature, but the Silver was fascinated by the artifice of man.

The Silver found a special place downstream with a wondrous construction. The sturdy white building and graceful bridge were built long before the Silver’s memory began. Yet here they stood, the bridge connecting two lands across their boundaries, the gatehouse offering protection. No human had visited here in all the winter twilights the Silver watched the buildings stand.

Today, however, a man had come exploring, leaving a path through the white along the riverbank. As he drew in sight of the gatehouse, the Silver saw him fall to his knees.

“Why do you worship the building?” the Silver asked the man.

The man shook his head, dislodging the snow from his shoulders as he wiped his eyes. “Not worship, revere. My people built this, long ago. I recognize their handiwork but had not thought to find it so far from home. Seeing this is like seeing my lost family.”

“Why did you lose your family, if you revere them so?” the Silver asked.

“‘Twas they who left me behind,” the man said sorrowfully. “After centuries of wars and plagues and every cruelty of man and nature, the people of Argentium are no more. I left my home seeking hope, but I am the last of my kind.”

“What would you give me, to find your hope?” the Silver asked eagerly.

After some negotiation it was decided the man would give up his magic, for he was a great mage who was willing to exchange power for another chance at love. At the Silver’s direction, the man chipped an acorn from the frozen river. The Green had cast thousands of them into the water over the years, in the hope that the Silver would find a pleasing home somewhere along the banks.

As the Silver surged high enough to break through the canopy and watch over the bridge and the gatehouse, it was glad to see its benefactor settle nearby and start a family. The Silver was mischievous, and had not told the mage that though he gave up his own power, magic was not lost from his line.

“I am so glad you’ve joined me!” cried the Green. “The acorns are battling out with the pine cones for rights to the sunlight. It's sure to lead to war. With your help, we can influence destiny and win our children a home!”

***

After they achieved peace with the conifers in the Treaty of the Woodlands, the Green and the Silver scattered their offspring far and wide, following the Hales' movements all the way into Arcandrey's castle yard. Though the Argents soon followed, the Silver made a special point to shower acorns upon the packs of peddlers crossing the bridge, and was rewarded with reports from new groves established as far north as the Werlanden castle.

But children do not always listen to their parents.  The Green and Silver had their favorite families, and watched over their destinies with benevolence. It did not occur to them that one day those destinies might come into conflict, or that their far-flung descendants rooted closer to civilizations might wish to promote destinies of their own.

The Green and Silver were shocked and saddened by the perfidy of Gerard Argent and the loss of the Hales. Though they provided shelter to the families' surviving sons, they could not touch them or repair their broken destinies. Such helplessness came as an unwelcome shock to the mightiest powers of the forest.

As did the rebellion of their own line. "The groves in Werlanden favor Deucalion; he has just slain Peter Hale in Arcandrey Keep," the Silver confided from its more worldly vantage. "What shall we do? Let matters take their course, and then rebuild?"

The Green had grown more metaphysical over the years as its roots nourished the wolf's old den with magic and learned from the cave dwellers in turn. "We have so long put our faith in destiny and now it turns on us," it grumbled. "Perhaps it is time for a change.”

 


End file.
